"But what's the use of wearing umbrellas round one's knees?"
"In ordinary rain," the Professor admitted, "they would not be of much
use. But if ever it rained
horizontally, you know, they would be
invaluable--simply invaluable!"
"Take the Professor to the breakfast-
saloon, children," said the
Warden. "And tell them not to wait for me. I had breakfast early,
as I've some business to attend to." The children seized the Professor's
hands, as familiarly as if they had known him for years, and hurried
him away. I followed
respectfully behind.
CHAPTER 2.
L'AMIE INCONNUE.
As we entered the breakfast-
saloon, the Professor was
saying "--and
he had breakfast by himself, early: so he begged you wouldn't wait for
him, my Lady. This way, my Lady," he added, "this way!" And then, with
(as it seemed to me) most
superfluouspoliteness, he flung open the
door of my
compartment, and ushered in "--a young and lovely lady!"
I muttered to myself with some
bitterness. "And this is, of course,
the
opening scene of Vol. I. She is the Heroine. And I am one of those
subordinate characters that only turn up when needed for the
development of her
destiny, and whose final appearance is outside the
church,
waiting to greet the Happy Pair!"
"Yes, my Lady, change at Fayfield," were the next words I heard
(oh that too obsequious Guard!), "next station but one." And the door
closed, and the lady settled down into her corner, and the monotonous
throb of the engine (making one feel as if the train were some gigantic
monster, whose very
circulation we could feel) proclaimed that we were
once more speeding on our way. "The lady had a
perfectly formed nose,"
I caught myself
saying to myself, "hazel eyes, and lips--" and here
it occurred to me that to see, for myself, what "the lady" was really
like, would be more
satisfactory than much speculation.
I looked round
cautiously, and--was entirely disappointed of my
hope. The veil, which shrouded her whole face, was too thick for me to
see more than the
glitter of bright eyes and the hazy
outline of what
might be a lovely oval face, but might also,
unfortunately, be an
equally unlovely one. I closed my eyes again,
saying to myself
"--couldn't have a better chance for an experiment in Telepathy!
I'll think out her face, and afterwards test the
portrait with the
original."
At first, no result at all crowned my efforts, though I 'divided my
swift mind,' now
hither, now
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thither, in a way that I felt sure would
have made AEneas green with envy: but the dimly-seen oval remained as
provokingly blank as ever--a mere Ellipse, as if in some mathematical
diagram, without even the Foci that might be made to do duty as a nose
and a mouth. Gradually, however, the
conviction came upon me that I
could, by a certain
concentration of thought, think the veil away,
and so get a
glimpse of the
mysterious face--as to which the two
questions, "is she pretty?" and "is she plain?", still hung suspended,
in my mind, in beautiful equipoise.
Success was partial--and fitful--still there was a result: ever and
anon, the veil seemed to
vanish, in a sudden flash of light: but,
before I could fully realise the face, all was dark again. In each such
glimpse, the face seemed to grow more
childish and more innocent:
and, when I had at last thought the veil entirely away, it was,
unmistakeably, the sweet face of little Sylvie!
"So, either I've been dreaming about Sylvie," I said to myself,
"and this is the
reality. Or else I've really been with Sylvie,
and this is a dream! Is Life itself a dream, I wonder?"
To occupy the time, I got out the letter, which had caused me to take
this sudden railway-journey from my London home down to a strange
fishing-town on the North coast, and read it over again:-
"DEAR OLD FRIEND,
"I'm sure it will be as great a pleasure to me, as it can possibly
be to you, to meet once more after so many years: and of course I
shall be ready to give you all the benefit of such
medical skill as
I have: only, you know, one mustn't
violateprofessional etiquette!
And you are already in the hands of a first-rate London doctor,
with whom it would be utter affectation for me to
pretend to
compete. (I make no doubt he
is right in
saying the heart is affected:
all your symptoms point that way.) One thing, at any rate, I have
already done in my doctorial capacity--secured you a bedroom on the
ground-floor, so that you will not need to
ascend the stairs at all.
"I shalt expect you by last train on Friday, in
accordance with your
letter: and, till then, I shalt say, in the words of the old song,
'Oh for Friday nicht! Friday's lang a-coming!'
"Yours always,
"ARTHUR FORESTER.